"Not a soul seems to have seen him after he left Regent Street,"
was the somewhat puzzled answer. "His own story was quite
straightforward and has never been contradicted. He let himself
into his house with a latch-key after his return from the Cafe
Royal, drank a whisky and soda in the library, and went to bed
before half-past eleven. The whole affair--"

Francis broke off abruptly in the middle of his sentence. He sat
with his eyes fixed upon the door, silent and speechless.

"What in Heaven's name is the matter, old fellow?" Wilmore
demanded, gazing at his companion in blank amazement.

The latter pulled himself together with an effort. The sight of
the two new arrivals talking to Louis on the threshold of the
restaurant, seemed for the moment to have drawn every scrap of
colour from his cheeks. Nevertheless, his recovery was almost
instantaneous.

"If you want to know any more," he said calmly, "you had better
go and ask him to tell you the whole story himself. There he
is."

"And the woman with him?" Wilmore exclaimed under his breath.

"His wife!"